


Half-Blood Prince and the Changed Potter

by Vessecora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22033834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vessecora/pseuds/Vessecora
Summary: Same old Harry. Full of Gryffindor fire, just... More of a controlled burn. Small changes over the summer after Sirius' death have led Harry down a different path. A slower path, trod with one Severus Snape at his side for sixth year.A story of understanding and er, understandings ;)
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Harry Victorious

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this work is inspired by J.K Rowling with no intent to profit.
> 
> We're coming into a new year, so it's time for me to take a new look at Harry. If that includes finally writing a proper Snarry, then so be it!
> 
> There's a few direct quotes from the book in this first chapter until we get into the rhythm of the changes. Unbeta'd.

Harry felt like an absurd turtle. Laying on his back, with blood dripping into his mouth, Harry considered that he could not hate Malfoy any more than he currently did. Everyone had left the train, and surely Ron and Hermione would just think that he had left before them. No one would think to check this compartment for him. He would be halfway back to London before anyone noticed he was missing. 

Well. Maybe Snape would notice that his favourite verbal punching bag wasn't present at the feast. His black eyes followed Harry wherever he was. Harry could feel Snape's eyes on him constantly at Hogwarts and it was... Disconcerting, to say the least. 

Harry had had time to think over the summer about what Dumbledore had said about Snape and Sirius. Harry couldn't bring himself to let go of the disgust and simmering anger he felt when he thought of the sheer enmity that had existed between the two men. Snape's snide remarks to Sirius about remaining safely hidden while the rest of the Order was fighting Voldemort were surely a powerful factor in Sirius rushing off to the Ministry the night that he had died.

Harry had really clung to this notion at the beginning of summer, but slowly began to realise that no matter how glad to be rid of Sirius Snape might be, he was not the one who caused Sirius to fall into the archway. And truly, the reason Sirius was there was not for Snape, but for Harry. Harry, who didn't stop to think before rushing to the rescue. Just as Snape was always taunting Harry, it seemed that Snape was always right. 

It had been the most bitter realisation. As bitter as the man himself. As bitter as Harry himself had been. The tears still pricked his eyes when he thought of Sirius, but for once the hatred had left him. Harry had spent much of the summer away from the Dursley's, just wandering around Surrey, lost in thought. He had visited the library searching for books about grief on Hermione's order, and found himself surprisingly engrossed in books about meditation. 

It shocked Harry to realise that the muggles had a technique similar to occlumency. Harry didn't think it would help him deal with the likes of Malfoy, but Snape... He felt he could understand the undercurrent of the man more now. Calculated stabs to Harry's ego were the man's bread and butter after all. Surely it wasn't much to take in, but it still left Harry with a strange sense of calmness regarding the man himself.

Harry could hear the hoot of an owl, and the trees that surrounded the lake rustling as he repeatedly thought 'accio wand' over and over inside his head. The train lurched and began to vibrate. The Hogwarts Express was leaving and not even Snape knew Harry was stuck on it.

Then he felt his Invisibility Cloak fly off him and a voice overhead said, "Wotcher, Harry. "

***

The trip up to the castle was a million miles better than being 500 miles away, back at King's Cross. Even being fetched by Snape couldn't dim Harry's relief, despite the taunting the older man gave to Tonks about her new patronus. 

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for lateness, I think," said Snape. "And, let me see, another twenty for your Muggle attire. You know, I don't believe any House has ever been in negative figures this early in the term--we haven't even started pudding. You might have set a record, Potter. "

Harry smirked in the darkness, taking a leaf out of Snape's book. Despite the points, Harry was amused at having never realised the dry humour that Snape wielded like a blade. Harry said nothing of why he was late. He'd rather not start a fight about Snape's favourite Slytherin for once.

"I suppose you wanted to make an entrance, did you?" Snape continued. "And with no flying car available you decided that bursting into the Great Hall halfway through the feast ought to create a dramatic effect. "

Harry thought his chest might explode with the effort of keeping in a snicker as he imagined himself running into the Great Hall in a similar fashion to Quirrel all those years ago. Although he had come to terms with the force of Snape's personality it would not do to anger him by seemingly laughing at him. Harry knew that much by now. He knew that Snape had come to fetch him for this, for the few minutes when he could needle and torment Harry without anyone else listening.

"No response, Potter? I'm shocked. It's not like a Potter to reject the opportunity to boast."

Harry exhaled forcefully. 

"It's very much like this Potter, Sir," Harry said softly, glancing at the taller man to his left. 

"Oh? Have we a new improved Potter on our hands? Perhaps you've finally realised the world doesn't revolve around you?" 

Harry sighed and stopped just before the castle steps. The night air was blessedly cool on his hot face. 

"I'm the same old Harry, just..." Harry trailed off.

"More," said Snape, turning to look at Harry as they stood together before the great oaken front doors of Hogwarts.

Harry grimaced up at Snape, half expecting a tirade on Sirius. But the darker wizard just sighed and pulled his wand from his cloak. Harry felt his heart constrict in learned fear before he breathed consciously and somewhat cheekily raised an eyebrow at Snape.

Snape regarded Harry with dark eyes and raised an eyebrow of his own before muttering "Tergeo."

The dried blood siphoned from Harry, who felt his now clean face in surprise. 

"Er, thanks."

"Do not mention it, Potter," said Snape, as the doors suddenly swung open into the vast flagged entrance hall, a burst of talk and laughter and of tinkling plates and glasses greeting them through the doors standing open into the Great Hall.


	2. The Book

"I have not asked you to take out your books," said Snape, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk; Hermione hastily dropped her copy of Confronting the Faceless back into her bag and stowed it under her chair. "I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention. "

His black eyes roved over their upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry's than anyone else's.

"The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible. "

Harry felt a strange swooping sensation in his stomach as he focused on Snape prowling the classroom. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice? 

Harry watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him. There was a certain air about Snape. There always had been. Previously Harry had just called it menacing. But it was more than that. It was an air of power. Controlled power. Harry wanted that. He wanted it for himself and he wanted it in a way he couldn't quite understand just yet.

When Harry's attention returned to the classroom he realised that Hermione was giving an explanation of why non-verbal spells had an advantage.

"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six," said Snape dismissively (over in the corner, Malfoy sniggered), "but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress in using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some," his gaze lingered upon Harry once more, his head tilted just a fraction, "lack. "

Harry knew Snape was thinking of their disastrous Occlumency lessons of the previous year. Harry wondered if his practice in meditation would make much difference were they to resume said lessons. 

Soon, the class was separated into pairs for practice. Harry was surrounded by classmates who were cheating by whispering the incantation under their breath. Ron, who was supposed to be jinxing Harry, was purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Harry had his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel a jinx that seemed unlikely ever to come. 

Harry let his gaze wander to Snape who was, as ever, prowling the classroom as he watched his students struggle. Harry thought back to Snape's words about the Dark Arts. Perhaps it was too closed-minded not to appreciate the actual art of them? After all, there were many spells that could be used for harm that were taught in Harry's first few years at Hogwarts. Perhaps spells of a typical dark nature could be utilised in an opposing manner, for good. 

The Knockback Jinx, Flipendo, was taught by Flitwick in first year, after all. And, Harry mused, are jinxes not considered dark? Flipendo could knock a person back or leave them disoriented, but it could also knock objects back. If a jinx can be neutral in that sense...

"Pathetic, Weasley," said Snape, after a while. Harry jumped, having lost track of Snape in his musing. "Here--let me show you--"

Snape turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; all thought of non-verbal spells forgotten, he yelled, "Protego!"

His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling.

"Do you remember me telling you we are practicing non-verbal spells, Potter?"

"Yes," said Harry stiffly.

"Yes, sir. "

"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor. " The words had escaped him before he knew what he was saying. Several people gasped, including Hermione. Behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively.

"Detention, Saturday night, my office," said Snape. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter. . . not even the Chosen One. "

Harry grimaced. Detention in his first DADA class with Snape. He'd thought he might be able to avoid detention altogether this year, but according to his mouth, it was not to be. Speaking without thinking was getting troublesome. Especially now that he was noticing the way Snape controlled his power, speech, and movements. Realising he was getting into dangerous territory, thinking about Snape's body, Harry shook his head and started packing up his things.

Later, when Hermione mentioned that the way Snape spoke of the Dark Arts reminded her of him, Harry thought she might just be onto something. Mad, but still...

***

The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. This left Harry, Ron, and Hermione to share a table with Ernie. They chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Harry had ever inhaled: somehow it reminded him simultaneously of sweet herbs, the woody smell of a broomstick handle, and something smokey that he couldn't quite place. 

He found that he was breathing very slowly and deeply and that the potion's fumes seemed to be filling him up like drink. A great contentment stole over him; he grinned across at Ron, who grinned back lazily.

As the rest of the class feverishly brewed the Draught of Living Death, Harry stared at the writing in the copy of Advanced Potion Making that Slughorn had handed him. The script looked familiar. Reading through the revised instructions filled Harry with curiosity and an eagerness to brew that he hadn't felt since his first year. 

At the end of the class, when Slughorn handed him the bottle of Felix Felicis, Harry pondered the amount of pride he felt at the success of his book-inspired potion. Was this how Snape felt about brewing? Harry's thoughts hearkened back to the speech Snape gave at the start of their very first potions lesson. Was this what it felt like to have the... Predisposition? Harry couldn't even think of the phrase without the same inflection that Snape gave to it.

After Hermione had checked the book with a Specialis Revelio, Harry found something scribbled along the bottom of the back cover in the same small, cramped handwriting.

This book is the property of the Half Blood Prince.


End file.
